


What's In A Word - Words

by Davechicken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt - words</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In A Word - Words

Derek never says anything that could vaguely be considered romantic, which frustrated Stiles in the beginning. Not _right_ in the beginning, because back then he’d just been so caught up in the heady, hormonal mess that was a teenage boy losing his virginity to a werewolf with all the libido associated with a ridiculous metabolism. 

(That had been a fun howeverlong. Stiles still held some of those memories amongst his favourites, no matter how clumsy and giddy he’d been. There was something just… _good_ about being fucked so hard that you had to get detention to explain why you couldn’t play lacrosse for a week. He wasn’t exactly going to say to Coach ‘Sorry, my ass is still throbbing and I didn’t stretch my legs out properly before I was pretzeled into a sobbing wreck’. Even though it would be fun to see him processing that.)

After that, when the fever had turned into tides, instead of a constant battering, he noticed it more. When he lay on his back, letting Derek smear his happy juice all over his belly before it dried. That was when they should talk, right? Like that. Or those times he woke in the other’s bed come the morning time, having done too much to make it back to his Jeep. You said things… if it was… what even was it?

Definitely fucking. And probably monogamous. He doesn’t know if werewolves took after actual wolves in the whole one-partner thing, but if Scott was anything to go by, they did. And he’d never seen Derek show interest in anyone else. Stiles knows _he_ isn’t fucking around. Even if anyone else would want him, he… he just wasn’t wired like that. Even a threesome seemed a little like it would require a crib sheet, and maybe he would like it, but mostly he thinks he’d be jealous of any time the other two touched. So. No.

But other than the fucking… what _are_ they? It wasn’t **dating**. You had to go on dates for that. He’s not even sure if Derek actually likes him. It could just be that he wants a bedmate, right? Maybe. And if he asks what this is, if he tries to put a name to it, a title, a label… it might break the don’t-ask-don’t-tell-definitely-don’t-gush thing Derek has going on. Forcing it into something official might well seal their fate to past tense. _Did fuck, have fucked, were fucking_. Not _still fucking, are fucking, will fuck_. Nope.

Right now, the older man sits on the couch, curled up with a book. (So he _did_ know words, unless it was a picture book, Stiles thought bitterly.) He peers up when he senses Stiles’ discomfort, and puts the book carefully down.

“What is it?”

Stiles shrugs, finding his own tongue strangely silent this time.

Derek frowns, and Stiles wishes he could just punch him in the arm and not act like a… not even like a ‘girl’, because he doesn’t think ‘girl’ is _wrong_ , just… like someone who is needy and insecure and wants hugs and kisses and nice things whispered in his ear. Nice things that aren’t just: ‘Damn, you’re tight’, or ‘don’t you dare move’ or ‘if you’re going to put it in me, put it in me’. (Okay, stop it, memory. You get to bring those things up when he’s not around to do his freaky wolf mind-reading thing.) “Nothing.”

The other man slowly rises to his feet, pacing closer. He doesn’t seem convinced, and Stiles wants to laugh it off with some stupid joke, but Derek’s taciturn nature is _catching_. And that’s so frustrating, because Stiles prides himself on his ability to keep up, to let his tongue run ahead of him. To get the rapid, wandering thoughts out before his head explodes. But now, now it’s… it’s all _wrong_ and…

A hand on his arm, and he shrugs it off before he can think about it. No. No. “You can’t just… fuck me better, Derek!”

The wolf looks more confused, now, and pulls his hand back. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“Yeah, well… you do. You just… and we… and…” He draws complex patterns in the air with both hands, somehow representing everything better than his tongue can.

“You… want me to stop?”

“No! Yes! No! Damnit, Derek. I just… what do you _want_ from me?”

That makes Derek pause, and his eyes squint, lips pursed into thoughts that can’t yet be voiced. After too long, he just says: “You.”

“But… but why? You just - and we - Derek, I–”

A finger over his lips, shushing him. He glares around it, resisting the urge to make a rude noise against it.

“You, Stiles. All of you.” He says it like it’s obvious, but also like it hurts that he has to say it. “I thought I made that… clear.”

“What, when? How is it clear? Clearly it’s not clear. If it was clear I wouldn’t have to ask!” he says, batting the hand from his mouth. 

“Then I’m sorry,” Derek says, and he looks genuinely apologetic. “How can I… clarify?”

“Talk to me! Once in a while. You know. Not just barked orders and yeses and…”

A hand whips out, pulling him in to press their foreheads together. The rest of the tirade dies on his lips, and he sighs, heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says. “I’m not… used to… this.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

“Could you maybe… tell me before it gets like this, next time? I knew… something was wrong, but not what.”

“…not sure I did, either,” Stiles admits. “Not really.”

“Come here,” Derek says, and sits back down. He pats the couch beside him, and Stiles goes to sit beside him. “I think we need… well. To talk.”

“As long as you’re not breaking up with me, then sure.”

Derek snorts, and kisses his temple in a surprisingly gentle gesture. “Not unless you want me to. I want to make this work, Stiles.” 

Now he feels like an ass for blowing up at him, instead of just… saying something. Maybe he’s not as eloquent as he first thought. Stiles nods, and burrows in closer. “Yeah. Me too.”

Maybe it is something. And he supposes he can’t put all the blame on Derek’s shoulders. If they want to make it work, really work… it’s gonna be harder than he first thought. He smiles at the nose running through his hair. 

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Derek suggests.

It’s going to be a long night. But they need it, and maybe… maybe then it will all make sense. (And hopefully end in makeup sex. That will be a cool addition to the memory bank. Oh yes…)


End file.
